Remember Me
by Shiro Mizuki
Summary: He remembered the last time they saw each other, last time their hands touched in a sweet caress, the last time he heard that smooth deep voice. The tall stature,the long arms that could easily embrace him and the large hands that smoothed his hair when it was ruffled. He wanted to see him again, but could he if he didn't remember his name? Slight crossover with SSB MarthxIke
1. Chapter 1: Whispered Names

Warning: OOC maybe? I've done some research and I'm playing Shadow Dragon right now, but not entirely sure on all the characters personalities, wiki can only tell you so much... Enjoy my first story! ~Shiro Mizuki

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><p>Chapter 1: Whispered Names<p>

He remembered the last time they saw each other, last time their hands touched in a sweet caress, the last time he heard that smooth deep voice. The question did not lie in what had happened the last time they laid teary eyes on each other, but in the span of time it had been since then. For all his worth he couldn't pin down how many years it had been. Had it been years, or maybe months, could it have been only weeks ago? Another issue presented itself. The name of this person. He could bring up a blurry image in his mind. The tall stature was a prominent feature, the long arms that could easily embrace him, the large hands that smoothed his hair whenever it was ruffled, but the striking blue eyes were the only clear thing in his mind. They astounded him, that such eyes could convey so many emotions. The anger they held whenever he had gotten hurt and the other rushed to defend him. The warm softness they held that melted his heart every time he woke up in the arms of the other. The intensity those deep blue eyes conveyed every time he rose his sword into the air. Those eyes had held fire. It was a fire that could be warm and comforting or dangerous and ferocious.

He had loved this person with the very core of his being and yet their name escaped him. It felt as if it was on the tip of his tongue and every time he went to utter the name it fled to the depths of his memory. It was torture to him. He wanted to find this mystery person and cherish the time he was with them. He couldn't though, all because of a measly name. This frustrated the young man to no end.

Slightly enraged, but clearly in control of his emotions, the young prince pushed his chair away from the desk. The chair groaned as it slid across the old wooden floors of the study. The fire in the room cast a warm glow on the books that covered the walls, tinting them a lovely burnt gold. As the prince stood he dug his bare feet into the furs that were scattered about the room, in no particular fashion. The combed fur felt soft underneath his small feet and tickled him when he spread his toes to grip the rug. He shuffled towards the fire, still lost in his thoughts. A measly name was all that was holding him back. He quickly decided names were quite frivolous. They were simply a means to label someone. A quick way to say you know someone when you haven't truly spoken to them. Names, they were something that people used to destroy confusion, but it didn't necessarily mean that they enhanced the way humans interacted with each other. If you truly knew a person you'd be able understand the way they thought and you'd be able to respect their choices, even without a name. You would know what they are, inside and out. But here he was, he knew this person, he loved everything about them, yet all anyone else cared about was their name.

He knelt down next to the fire, letting the heat caress his cheeks. He had been at it for weeks. His search was fruitless though. He had been chosen to compete in a tournament; it was supposed to be for the world's greatest fighters. The prince had been flattered that he had been sent an invitation. He wasn't the most skilled with a sword but he was a brilliant leader and tactician. He had led a rag tag group of fighters to his kingdom and won it back from the allies that had betrayed them. He had met this fighter at the tournament. Their sword was blazing gold and its hilt was pitch black. The prince was in awe at how gracefully the warrior had wielded the immense weapon. The sword's blade was one of the longest he'd ever seen. It had looked heavy and just watching the other fight with it made his arms weak.

He remembered when he first arrived at his lodgings. In the room he was staying in were two full sized beds. They were covered with soft quilts, one red the other blue. He immediately made his way to the bed with the blue quilt. He had set his bag on the bed and began to pull out his belongings. He organized them and separated them into different drawers and shelves. The room had a beautiful mahogany bookcase. The prince let his hand wander to the elaborate designs that had been engraved into the wood. His fingertips followed the intricate swirls to one of the many shelves. He started to fill the empty space with books from home.

Just as he had begun to unfasten his sword from his side the door creaked open. The prince had unsheathed his sword, it was a natural reaction. He had spent so much time being hunted down that it natural for him to assume that his life was being threatened. The person who had opened the door blinked a few times in shock. It was the swordsman with the gold sword.

"My apologies," the young prince said in a soft tone while sheathing his sword. The other still stood there and stared. The prince looked up and met his gaze. They had stayed like that for a while.

"That was quite the welcome," the other man finally spoke in a teasing tone.

"I apologized," the prince mumbled breaking the eye contact.

"Yeah, but still, who'd you think I'd be?" the young man asked with a large smile. "I mean did you think I was going to hurt you?"

"I've had too many close encounters with assassins and hired mercenaries that were sent to… dispose of me. You learn to be cautious," the young prince sighed, pretty much summing up his early teenage years. He then quickly added, "But even if you were sent to get rid of me I assure you I would be fine, seeing as though I'd be able to dispatch you at any given moment."

The room's other occupant stayed silent for a very long time and the prince decided to continue unpacking until the young man drawled out, "Let's start over." The prince put his folded cape on to the bed and looked up at the man. "I'm -, I'm a, um, mercenary," he said and sheepishly smiled. In the prince's memory he couldn't remember what the mercenary had said his name was which was why he was searching for it now.

"So you might actually be here to kill me," the prince stifled a laugh.

"No, no I don't even know who you are, I'm not going to kill you," the mercenary stated while pointing a finger at the prince to.

"My name is Marth, I'm a prince of Altea," the prince said with a soft smile and then rose his hand up. The mercenary hesitantly took Marth's hand and shook it with a weak grip. Marth gave him a questioning look.

"Uh… well, what should I call you? You're royalty, so what title should I use?" the mercenary mumbled.

"Oh, well, you can just drop the formalities and call me Marth, we will be spending an awful lot of time together since we're sharing a room," Marth replied in a bit of shock.

"Okay then Marth, I hope we get along," the young mercenary replied with a lazy grin. And they did get along. Sure, there had been a few bumps in the road but soon the two became inseparable. They eventually became lovers, but in the end were separated after the tournament. They had to travel back to their homelands. They promised to see each other again, but the odds of that ever happening were growing slimmer by the day.

"Sire, Lady Elice has returned and she wishes to speak with you," someonhe said while knocking on the door. Marth snapped out of his thoughts and padded towards the door. His sister had gone to meet a possible suitor and she must've just gotten back. Their parents had been killed during the war and it now fell to Elice to take over as Queen of Altea. She had decided that Marth was still much too young take the responsibility of ruling. He was grateful to her because if he had become king he would have to marry very soon after receiving the crown. He didn't intend to marry someone he didn't love. The only person of he thought of when someone mentioned love was his nameless mercenary.

He opened up the old wooden door and came face to face with Cain. The red haired man smiled lightly and began to walk down the hall. Marth sighed and followed him. He was losing it. He didn't even realize it was Cain who had spoken to him through the door. Cain had been supporting before he even embarked on his journey to reclaim Altea. He was the man who delivered him the news of his father's death. Now he didn't even remember his voice.

"Lady Elice is in here," Cain said over his shoulder.

"Ah, thank you Cain," Marth murmured while stepping towards the door.

"Lord Marth?" the red head suddenly blurted out.

"Y-yes?" Marth asked in slight surprise.

"Lord Marth are you doing well? You seem absent lately; many of us are worried. You've been locking yourself up in the study every day," Cain trailed off.

"I assure you I'm fine, thank you all for your concern. I don't deserve your worry," Marth smiled and spoke softly. "If you would excuse me; I must go speak with my sister now." With that Marth made his way into the room in which his sister resided in. Cain had looked like he had wanted to say something but Marth did not intend to wait and hear it. "Elice, welcome back," Marth called into the room.

"Marth I have wonderful news!" Elice exclaimed. She had stood up from her chair and made her way over to her younger brother. She gently wrapped her arms around Marth in a hug and combed her fingers through his soft hair. "I've found a suitor, he has proposed to me!" Elice smiled and released Marth.

"That's great, how is he? What is he like?" Marth asked. He liked it when his sister was happy. He remembered when she made him leave her behind when Altea was attacked and he promised himself he'd make it up to her.

"He's quite handsome, a fine warrior, only a couple years older than me and he is a very confident man," Elice stated dreamily.

"Will you be married here or in his country?" Marth question as he moved towards the fire warm his hands. "I'd like to meet him as soon as possible."

"We've decided to marry here and he'll be joining us with a couple days' time. My, we have a lot to do, I need a gown, we need to get a guest list, oh and food," Elice rambled. Marth watched as his sister scrambled around the room searching for something to write her to do list on. He really hoped this bloke his sister was engaged to was a decent man. Marth didn't know what he'd do with himself if he didn't get along with his new brother-in-law.

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><p>Pleas Review or favorite! Tell me If I should continue or not! I'm not entirely sure myself yet, but I have a really complex plot in my head... not sure how it'll turn out, but hey worth a shot, right? Thank you for reading! I hope to see you in the next chapter (if there is one)! ~Shiro Mizuki<p> 


	2. Chapter 2: A Fool's Love

Hi there, it's been awhile hasn't it?! So, sorry 'bout that I'll try to be better, thanks to those who Favorited and Followed! It's really encouraging, but special shout out to those who took the time to review, thank you so much, whenever I read a new review I smile so much my face hurts! So Finally, here's chapter two! Enjoy!

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><p>Chapter 2: A Fool's Love<p>

Wedding bliss seemed to engulf the city surrounding the castle. The news of the young princess' engagement reached far and wide. The day for Princess Elice's fiancé to arrive in Altea finally arrived. Marth watched his sister fidget with excitement; she was looking forward to seeing him again. Once Elice had announced her engagement Marth decided to look for information on the man that wanted his sister's hand. It learned that he was from country more north than Marth himself had traveled and that the man was the second born son. The prince hoped that Elice's suitor was not just marrying her for power.

When he rode up on his horse Marth had a feeling of unease well in his chest. His hair was to his shoulders and was shiny black and matched the horse he was riding. Marth couldn't put his finger on it but this man didn't sit well with him. He dismounted his horse with a graceful leap and kneeled in front of Elice asking for her hand; which she gladly provided. He kissed it gently and listened to her sigh of contentment.

"Elice, I'm so very glad to be reunited with you after those many lonely days," he purred to her with a smooth voice. He hated him. Marth had never hated anyone so much before. This brute was smooth talking his sister. It took all he had not to slap that hand away from his sister. "You must Prince Marth, my beloved brides little brother," the man said offering his hand to Marth. "I'm Clinton, I hope we can get along." Marth reached out and firmly took the man's hand in his; truly hoping his strong grip was hurting him. He just called him little, Marth fumed.

"Yes, I hope we will get along, please take care of my sister," Marth said in a cool polite tone and continued to try to crush Clinton's hand in his own.

"That's quite the grip you have there," Clinton laughed as they both pulled their hands away. Marth forced himself to laugh along with the olive skinned man. He could feel Elice staring at him with slit eyes.

"Oh Clinton I'll have the servants show you to your room, I'll be with you in just a moment!" Elice said softly and batted her eyelashes.

"I will be seeing you shortly then," Clinton bowed and followed the maid into the castle.

As soon as he was out of sight Elice hissed, "Behave yourself Marth! You're acting like a selfish child!"

"I don't like him," Marth grumbled folding his arms together and leaning his weight to one of his legs.

"Good thing you're not marrying him!" Elice howled at him and stormed off into the castle. Marth stood there in shock. His sister had never yelled at him before, she always kept a level head even when he was acting childish. After what could have been hours Marth made his way into the castle and went directly to the study. He locked the door and trudged into the middle of the room and unceremoniously plopped on to the fur covered floor. He felt like for the first time his sister had rejected him.

Marth slowly reached for a book on the desk and pulled it towards him. Most of the pages were snow white, but a few had sketches of a young man. Marth brushed his fingers over the drawings and smiled to himself a little, his nameless mercenary. _His _nameless mercenary. He drew what he could remember of the tall man in this book, in hopes of seeing him again. Though a few things were missing from the drawings, the shape of his face always seemed off and he couldn't remember what his nose looked like, or how far his eyes were from each other. He was starting to forget. He didn't want to forget. Soundless sobs started to wrack the prince body as he clung to the book and lied on the soft ground. The tears rolled down his face making his cheeks sticky and his lips salty.

"Lord Marth, your sister would like you to come dine with her and Lord Clinton," someone, no, Cain called through the door.

"Please tell them I respectfully decline the invitation, I'm not feeling well," Marth replied in a muffled tone. He sniffled a little waiting for Cain to move away from the door to rely his message.

"L-lord Marth, are you okay? Are you sick, do you need a doctor?" Cain called out in an almost frantic voice.

"I-I'm fine, just a little under the weather, I don't require a doctor," Marth replied in a hushed voice.

"Lord Marth, please open the door," Cain requested bluntly.

"I'm fine Cain, please just go tell my sister," Marth snapped. He was irritated now, he wanted to be alone. He didn't want Cain pestering him with trivial matters. He could hear the other hesitating outside the door, the way the tall man was shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He was trying figure out how answer. It was clear that his worry for the prince had grown tremendously after he had returned from the tournament.

"Lord Marth," Cain called after a long pause. "You do know that we, your rag tag group of soldiers, will always follow you. You know that right?" Marth let a small soft smile grace his lips and wiped the sticky tears from his cheeks.

He looked at the door and hoarsely mumbled, "Of course I do, but there are some things that cannot be solved with an army."

"We aren't just your army, Lord Marth. We consider you family," Cain said in a strained tone. Marth looked at the door and slowly stood. He unlocked the rusted handle and opened it to see a fiercely blushing Cain. His hands were balled into tight fist and he had turned his head to the side so he wouldn't have to make direct eye contact with the prince. "You can trust us with anything," he mumbled, still not making eye contact.

"Thank you Cain, I feel as if that is exactly what I needed to hear," Marth sighed softly and touched Cain's arm reassuringly. Cain slowly turned his head to look at Marth; he was clearly shocked by the appearance of his prince. His eyes puffy with tears and cheeks reddened, he was worrying his bottom lip with his teeth and shifting uncomfortably under Cain's gaze.

"L-lord Marth, what's wrong? Why have you been crying?" Cain shot out his question, uncertain on how to comfort his young lord.

"It is not anything of great concern," Marth cringed as he spoke the words. Of course it was great concern; for God's sake he was trying to remember the name and face of his love. Trying and failing to remember. A great wave of depression washed over Marth as he bleakly looked at the floor trying to put on a smile to reassure Cain. The smile on his face was sad and painful, not a hint of joy in it. It would be impossible to put a happy face on when he was beginning to see how no matter how hard he tried, how hard he looked, how much he believed and how much he loved the man in his memories, he would never find him. His search would always be fruitless, his efforts always wasted and his love meaningless. "Ah, Cain, I'm truly unwell at this moment, if you would please excuse me, I think I'll retire to my room to rest," Marth whispered slowly brushing past Cain, he still clutched the book full of drawings in his arms, unable to let it go.

When he reached his room, he noticed a fire had been ignited and cast a warm, cheery glow about the room. It was mocking him, at that moment he was half tempted to extinguish the fire and sleep in the cold, at least then the room would reflect his mind. He dismissed it the thought quickly, it would do him no good to be miserable and sick in bed.

Unconsciously he shuffled towards the fire until he stood right in front of it, feeling the burn of warmth against his cold skin. He flexed his fingers around the sides of the sketch book. What good would these pictures do? What was the point anymore? He would never find his mercenary. He would never know that love again. He was a fool, a stupid, ignorant, blind fool. Love was a feeling of passing interest and no one person could ever be truly meant for another. A rage started to build up within Marth. How had he let himself believe that he had ever had a chance of reuniting with… with, his…fling? The rage turned into a self-loathing, it was his own damn fault. His own fault he believed that the man had been his fated match, his destined love. He had spent, no, not spent, wasted _so _much time worrying over a man he couldn't even remember.

He flipped through the sketches he had drawn and laughed bitterly to himself. The man he had spent so much time looking for, probably didn't even give a shit about where he was. He probably found someone new to warm his bed; someone far prettier and without the emotional baggage. He was just an in-between, someone to fulfill that man's needs while he searched for what he really wanted. Just a notch in his bedpost.

Furious tears fell down his face, blinding him. How idiotic could he have been, to actually believe that he and this man would ever meet again? With those thoughts whirling around his mind Marth felt his heart ache, and felt his body slowly turn numb and cold. He assured himself that he would never be a fool again, he would never love again. People were meant to be kept at an arms distance, where they could not harm him.

He gripped the book between his hands and stared at it. All his devotion, love and belief in the mercenary were in that book. A book of a fool. He hurled the leather book towards his fire place. It landed amongst the golden flames. The licks of fire began to devour the book as the edges burned, became black and then denigrated. Marth watched with a cold smile plastered unnaturally across his face, his blood felt like poison that was slowly eating him alive.

Then suddenly a shot of panic bolted through him. He found himself on his knees, hands in the inferno trying his hardest to salvage what was left of the book. His hands smarted as the fire licked around them, his skin felt tight and cracked as crimson blood flowed from his hands and onto the wood of the fire. He managed to pull his hands from the flames with the smoldering book seized between them. His mangled hands were unrecognizable, the skin was burned away, bleeding and large blisters formed all over them. Marth finally felt the pain and whimpered in distress. He collapsed next to the fire, shivering in agony. He had saved the book though, and once he realized that there was a surge of happiness that engulfed him.

With his consciousness fading and a dry throat he croaked quietly, "What a fool I am, what a fool you have made me… my sweet love… Ike."

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><p>Uhhh, sorry, it seemed like the best place to stop... I don't know when the next chapter is up, but I hope it's soon, I haven't started chapter three yet, so we shall see! I promise everything will be (mostly) happy soon! And maybe Ike will make an appearance soon (I seriously have no idea...)?! Once again please favorite, follow and most importantly review (it makes me super happy!)! Please tell me how I'm doing! I would love input! Well until next time! ~Shiro Mizuki!<p> 


	3. Chapter 3: To Never See You Again

Author's Note: Well, sorry, this took way longer than expected, not completely happy with it but no completely appalled by it, so here you go! Hope you enjoy! Here a new POV!

Chapter Three: To Never See You Again

The air was frozen and every step he took he could hear the cold crunch of the snow beneath his feet. The snow reflected the pale sunlight of the morning throughout the forest painting quite the pretty picture. The trees, gray and limp, were scattered across the land. He trudged forward, determined to find at least one decent piece of meat for his mercenaries. Camping in winter was the hardest. Plants that had once grown in abundance now withered away and hid from the world. The worst part was probably the cold though.

He flexed his fingers trying to get rid of the stiffening feeling that paralyzed them. Looking across the landscape, he sighed in defeat. He had tried his best not to the let that ache overcome him. He often found himself distracting himself with difficult task in order to keep his mind from wondering to the one he had lost. Whenever he even had a passing thought on the young man, he immediately began to lose himself in thought.

Questions often plagued him: What could he have done to keep him by his side? What could he have said or done to let the other know how much he mattered? How could he find him again? Amongst the questions were regrets: He should have made him smile more. He should have made him laugh more. He should have told him he loved him many more times; until his love's face was red with embarrassment. He shouldn't have promised that they would see each other again.

There was no way they would ever see each other again. He would never see that sweet smile, or that adorable pout. He would never witness the graceful swordplay that the other had mastered. He would never hear his love's words rise into a righteous rage again. Never see his soft cerulean hair blown by the breeze, or see his dark eyes cloud with emotions, never… never again.

For weeks, months, and years he searched for any mention of a country named Altea. He remembered in the first conversation they had the young man had introduced himself as the Prince of Altea. It had been his only lead. It was a lead he wished he had never followed. It would have allowed him hope. Hope that his Prince was still out there waiting for him.

At first he could find no mentions of a place called Altea. It remained shrouded in shadows, but one day while walking through a bizarre he caught sight of an old book. The book's edges where tattered and torn and the pages yellow with age. The layers of dust were practically part of the book by now and when he picked it up his hands became coated in a thick film of gray. He flipped through the book, scanning the pages until he caught sight of a single word that made his breath catch in his throat: _Altea._ The book was full of legends and myths about an ancient land where a man by the name of Anri founded the Kingdom of Altea. As he read on he found his prince.

He found his prince was dead.

His prince, after all the hardships he had braved through, after fighting a war to regain his homeland, after suffering and agonizing, was murdered. The blood had drained from the young mercenary's face. His body became numb and frozen stiff. How could someone bring harm to such a beautiful soul? How could someone slip into his room and burn him alive, not even leaving a body to grieve over. The book never said who had been the murderer and that bothered him. How could they not catch and hang the person who had snuffed out the life of someone who fought and cared for others. How could they not care?

After coming to realization that it would be impossible for them to ever meet again he went through a fit of depression. It had greatly worried his company and most specifically his sister. When he noticed how worried she he forced himself out of blackened mind and back into the light. He decided that he would keep his prince alive in his heart for as long as he lived. To keep the memories of the young man bright a vivid and to hope that the prince's soul could rest easier now that someone who loved him had mourned him.

The young mercenary had decided that he wanted to pay his respects to his prince. The book mentioned that the lands in the legends supposedly were. In this current time the lands were nothing but empty plains. He had promised his sister he would cast off this depression if he could at least see the grave where they buried his prince's ashes. He knew exactly what he wanted to do and say to his prince.

He wanted to ask for forgiveness for not being able to protect him and keep their promise. He would tell him how much he loved him and how he would never be able to love another. He would tell him it was okay and that the time they spent together was enough to sustain him for a lifetime, so his prince shouldn't feel guilty, he would be happy with his memories. He and his sister and maybe even Mia, Rhys and Rolf would help in planting flowers that could withstand the harshest winters and the hottest summers; so his prince would always be surrounded by beauty. They were close now. They would be there within a few days and he'd finally be able to say goodbye.

"Ike!" a young girl cried out from behind him. As he spun around to greet her, he noticed she had defiantly placed her hands on her hips and stuck her lower lip out in a pout. "Where have you been? You've been gone for ages!" she huffed.

"Sorry Mist… just lost track of time I guess," the mercenary, Ike, apologized, not making eye contact with Mist.

"Ike!" Mist whined. "I know you're upset, I know this prince meant a lot to you… but, you're going to get hurt while zoning out one of these days! I think he'd be upset if you died in some stupid way!"

"Mist… yeah, you're right, he'd probably yell… a lot…" Ike chuckled at the thought.

"Well, c'mon, we're so close, Titania thinks we'll make it there before nightfall!" Mist giggled pulling on Ike's sleeve, attempting to pull her brother along with her.

"Alright, let's head out," Ike smiled softly, patting the top of her head.

It was night, the air was bitter with cold and the room was devoid of light. The fire had gone out and Marth noticed someone had moved him to his bed. He's hands had been bandaged and were stinging with numbness. With great difficultly Marth pulled himself upwards till he was sitting upright. His entire body ached with a dull pain. He vaguely remembered breaking down and throwing the sketch book into the fire. His eyes widen and his throat closed.

"Ike…" he croaked softly into the seemingly vacant room. In his moment of desperation he had remember his mercenary's name; Ike the leader of the Greil Mercenaries.

"You were mumbling that in your sleep, who is Ike, I wonder, but at the same time you won't be around much longer for it to be of great importance," a soft voice whispered in the darkness. Marth scanned the room for the owner of that voice, but in the dark he could not make anything out. Then a sharp pain overtook him. His eyes drifted shut. The last thing he heard was, "Goodbye little prince."

Author's Note: So that's that... I hope to be able to have the next chapter up before New Year's so look out for that! Please, please, please review or PM me, you guys are basically my only motivation...so if you have any ideas or things you would like to happen by all means let me know! I'd love to hear from anyone who reads this! Thanks a bunch and I hope you enjoyed!


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